Wojna Obronna 1939 Roku
by Kit Yami
Summary: It takes true strength to stand back up after one has been shoved to the ground. It takes true strength to smile when it is easier to frown. Some say it is stupidity to be like this. It is strength, one without a fist.
1. Chapter 1

**Wojna obronna 1939 roku**

_By: Kit Yami_

_It takes true strength to stand back up after one has been shoved to the ground. It takes true strength to smile when it is easier to frown. Some say it is stupidity to be like this. It is strength, one without a fist._

Chapter One: It begins

"_This night for the first time Polish regular soldiers fired on our territory. Since 5.45 A.M. we have been returning the fire, and from now on bombs will be met by bombs. Whoever fight with poison gas will be fought with poison gas. Whoever departs from the rules of humane warfare can only expect that we shall do the same. I will continue this struggle, no matter against whom, until the safety of the Reich and its rights are secured." Adolf Hitler, September 1, 1939_

Feliks Łukasiewicz quickly made his way through the streets of Warszawa heading towards Pałac Prezydencki. An eerie feeling had been stirring in the pit of his stomach since nearly four in the morning. Something was going wrong, and it didn't help that Germany had been on his ass these past few weeks.

Currently he is rushing through the halls heading towards the President's office when a sudden pain shoots up from his lower right side. The pain is so sudden it causes Feliks' legs to collapse beneath him and he ends up on his backside both hands pressed tight to the wound. With a wince the Pole pushes himself off the ground moving towards the office again.

He throws the door open when he arrives to be greeted by the sight of Prezydent Ignacy Mościcki as well as some of his advisors. Feliks walks right up to the desk and stares the Prezydent in the eyes worried. "Prezydent Ignacy Mościcki, Co się dzieje?"

Returning Poland's gaze the President replies, "Niemcy rozpoczęły atak."

The countries eyes widen and his breath stops for a moment. Once the words of his President sinks in his eyes narrow and anger courses through his veins. He spins on his heel and moves to leave the room, but the President jumps up and stops him.

"Nie, czekaj! Nie można wejść," Prezydent Ignacy Mościcki orders.

Feliks looks back at the other male, "Dlaczego nie?"

As soon as the words pass his lips another wave of pain courses through his body. This one isn't a single wave it is needle after needle stabbed into his side. His vision swims from it and he doubles over, the word invasion on his lips.

Although it is quite painful for the President to watch he uses this moment of inability to user everyone out of the room leaving his nation alone, "Przykro mi, Polska." With those words he closes and locks the door.

Feliks forces himself back onto his feet and rushes to the door trying to pull it open despite knowing it is locked. He resorts to banging on it and yelling to be let out. Finally he gives up when more waves of pain course from other parts of his body.

He slowly sinks to the floor and looks around for something to help him when his eyes land on the phone. Forcing himself up once again he moves over to the phone and dials England's number from memory.

When he puts the phone to his ear it rings, rings, and rings. After five rings he knows no one is going to answer, but he holds out hope, please England. Finally he slams the phone onto the receiver and tries France's number. Again it rings with no answer.

Angry tears burn his eyes as the knowledge of what is really happening sinks in. He quickly wipes them away mumbling to himself, "I like won't die that easily."

With a deep slightly calming breath he looks over to the window behind the President's desk. The sun is beginning to raise illuminating Feliks' beautiful capital city. A smile crosses the nation's features, though it is slightly pained. "I have totally got to be strong for my people."

Feliks settles himself on the floor his back pressed against the desk to wait for the time when he will be allowed to go and help. He closes his eyes listening to his people and ignoring his own pain.

He sits there new wounds appearing all over him for who knows how long before he moves into a kneeling position and begins praying.

"_Heaven help in all our battles, Heaven see love, heaven help us,_ protect us."

He breathes the words barely speaking them, repeating his thanks and asking for blessing, before moving into reciting a prayer.

"_God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will; That I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him Forever in the next."_

He flows through the prayers he has memorized over the years of his life. He is so caught up in his prayers that he doesn't notice his new wounds even as they get more and more painful.

Finally he is roused by the sound of a lock clicking and the door opening. Feliks looks up to see an American walking in. Trying to push himself up he finds that he can't and that at least of one his legs is broken. So he decides to just stay there.

"Like, what is happening? Why are the Germans getting so close? Like, can I go out there now?" Feliks bombards the man with questions frantic for answers.

The American opens his mouth to try and respond to the Polish man, to try and calm him even the slightest before he is cut off. "Polska!" a familiar voice says drawing the nation away from the American to look at his boss.

"Prezydent Ignacy Mościcki," Feliks says acknowledging him, "Co to jest?"

"Musisz zostawić," the President responds with a grim look.

A second of anger crosses the nations face before he responds with a solid, "Nie mogę opuścić!"

"Musisz zostawić," the man repeats trying to stay calm and collected.

"Nie mogę zostawić moich ludzi," Feliks says a bit louder this time.

"Przykro mi Polska," President Mościcki says, "Nie możesz tu zostać."

Feliks opens his mouth to respond when a new wave of pain hits him this one springing from his left side. He drops to the ground from the sudden overwhelming pain that occurs all over his body. Poland turns his gaze to his left side staring at it in shock. He isn't staring at the blood in shock, no he had long gotten used to that. What he is shocked at is the fact that the wounds are there.

Quickly his stare turns into a glare and he growls out, "Russia." The word is said with much more venom and hatred then one would expect of the Polish man from his general cheery attitude. His hatred is not only sent towards the enemy nation, but also at himself for not realizing that, that man would break his treaties.

More waves of pain spread over the nation causing his vision to blur and soon after the world goes black: the pain having been too much.

Przykro mi Polska… I will not die.

**Notes:**  
_Translations:_  
Prezydent Ignacy Mościcki, Co się dzieje? – President, what is happening?  
Niemcy rozpoczęły atak. – Germany has begun to attack.  
Nie, czekaj! Nie można wejść, – No, wait! You cannot go.  
Dlaczego nie? – Why not?  
Przykro mi, Polska – I am sorry, Poland.  
Wojna obronna 1939 roku - 1939 Defensive War  
Co to jest? – What is it?  
Musisz zostawić – You must leave  
Nie mogę opuścić –I cannot leave  
Nie mogę zostawić moich ludzi – I cannot leave my people  
Przykro mi Polska – I'm sorry Poland  
Nie możesz tu zostać – You cannot stay here


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **The rest of the story will not be quite so part of the wartime. It is more of the aftermath of what happened.

**Wojna obronna 1939 roku**

_By: Kit Yami_

_It takes true strength to stand back up after one has been shoved to the ground. It takes true strength to smile when it is easier to frown. Some say it is stupidity to be like this. It is strength, one without a fist._

Chapter Two: Refuge

"_Our strength is our speed and our brutality. Genghis Khan chased millions of women and children to death, consciously and with a happy heart. History sees him only as a great founder of states. It is of no concern, what the weak Western European civilization is saying about me. I issued the command - and I will have everybody executed, who will only utter a single word of criticism - that it is not the aim of the war to reach particular lines, but to physically annihilate the enemy. Therefore I have mobilized my Skull Squads, for the time being only in the East, with the command to unpityingly and mercilessly send men, women and children of Polish descent and language to death. This is the only way to gain the Lebensraum, which we need. Who is still talking today about the extinction of the Armenians?"Adolf Hitler, 22 August 1939_

Francis couldn't believe that he is the one who has to do this. Lying before him is a much bloodied up nation: the grotesque form of Poland. It is hard to recognize the Polish man through all the blood and wounds.

The Frenchman had arrived after a doctor had examined the Pole. The poor man has several broken and fractured bones throughout his body along with heavily bleeding wounds. Anyone who took one look at him would know if this man was human he would be long since dead. Of course, Feliks Łukasiewicz is definitely not human. Francis sighs knowing that the onslaught of damage to this man is near over, but not finished yet. Maybe even, the worst is yet to come.

They were lucky to get him out of his nation before the others found him. If Germany, Russia, or Prussia got a hold of him, well the nation of Poland would cease to exist and this near dead man would actually be dead.

A thought crosses Francis' mind, one he quickly has to shake off. _He still might die._

Now Francis is stuck standing in a room in Romania trying to figure out what to do with Poland. It was obvious he can't stay here, too many of the Poles escaped to Romania and Germany isn't stupid. This will be one of the first places the Axis will look. Not only that, but by having Feliks here, they are putting Romania at risk. So it is up to the Allies to find some place for Poland to heal his physical wounds.

So England would probably be the first choice to send the wounded nation. The two of them are on a pretty good standing. But, Arthur has his plate full already, he wouldn't be able to look after and care for Feliks' injuries. Of course Francis couldn't take him in; the German army is ready on his borders waiting for the chance to strike. It's kind of creepy now that he thinks about it. Alfred wouldn't take him in; the American is dead set on refusing to help.

The best bet would probably be one of the neutral nations. But, who could they get to take him in? It would probably be borderline breaking their neutrality if someone took him in. Hm, maybe someone who is close to Feliks personally… scrap that thought the only one close to him would be Lithuania and he certainly can't take his friend in.

While the Frenchman was thinking Romania entered the room. She calmly waited until he noticed her presence. Finally after a moment of being ignored she clears her throat.

Francis quick spins around, "oh mon cher! I did not see you there." He scoops her hand into his and places a kiss on the back of it.

The Romanian female ignores this, the only sign she acknowledged the action at all is a simple eye roll she gave him. "Have you thought of where to send Polonia yet?"

"Not yet mon cher," he pulls a rose seemingly out of thin air and offers it to her. "But do not worry I will figure this out, if worse comes to worse Angleterre will take him in."

The female nation ignores the Frenchman in favor of looking over at the unconscious nation. "I figured you wouldn't, so I took the liberty of getting him a place myself."

"Oh and where might that be," France asks curious blinking in surprise that she would go to such lengths. Well she probably wants them out of her country as soon as possible.

"With me," a familiar voice says from behind Francis.

The French nation spins around to see a familiar blonde haired man. Vash Zwingli is glaring him down while leaning against the wall next to the door. His hand is ready at one of his many guns just in case. His rifle slung over his should as usual.

"Suisse?" the allied nation questions, "why would you take him in?"

"None of your business," the Swiss man says darkening his glare.

France thinks over the turn of events. Switzerland is a neutral nation and borders Germany. In fact he is directly between Germany and Italy. It is likely that they won't look in his house. Maybe this will work out…

"Just give him to me so we can all get out of here and back to our business," Vash demands grumpily.

No beating that logic, Francis chuckles. "Alright Suisse, be careful."

"Aren't I always," he replies his eyes now staring at Feliks.

No one moves for a few moments before Francis turns to leave, "looks like I am not needed anymore."

He would probably say he walks out of the room, but either of the other nations would have to say he ran out. Feliks is in good hands…hopefully.

**Notes:  
**_Translations:  
_Mon Cher – dear (French)  
Angleterre – England (French)  
Polonia – Poland (Romanian)  
Suisse – Switzerland (French)

_Historical Notes:_  
Why they are currently in Romania- Thousands of Poles escaped the invading armies by fleeing through Romania. There were more escape routes, but I chose this one for the story, for no specific reason.  
Why Switzerland takes Poland in- During this time Switzerland turned away many of the fleeing Poles, but after Former Polish President Ignacy Mościcki succeeded his position, he fled to Switzerland and spent the rest of his life there. In this story I am having it so Feliks went before him, along with the other reasons I listed above.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wojna obronna 1939 roku**

_By: Kit Yami_

_It takes true strength to stand back up after one has been shoved to the ground. It takes true strength to smile when it is easier to frown. Some say it is stupidity to be like this. It is strength, one without a fist._

Chapter Three: Simple Thoughts

Vash Zwingli stands, staring at the plain wooden door separating him from the wounded Polish man. With a sigh he pushes the door open and steps into the bedroom. He stands still for a few moments watching Feliks rest on his bed. Finally his breath had evened out after many days of being ragged and broken.

Stepping up to the bed Vash places the water basin he brought in with him on the floor. He kneels next to the bed and the looks over his patient. The once silky blonde hair now looks almost brown as it is covered with dried blood and dirt. The ends, which Feliks would normally keep cut to obvious perfection, are the split in so many ways. The light cream colored skin is now a sickly pale caked in dirt. Bruises and cuts litter his skin and both his eyes are surrounded by black bruising rings. If the Pole had been awake and could see himself he would throw a fit.

After making sure Feliks is completely on the towels as to make sure the bedding is not soiled Vash sets to work. Slowly he pulls away at some of the bandaging from the Pole's left arm, revealing the broken skin. Tossing the bandages in a nearby trash bin, the Swiss male takes a cloth and wets it before wiping away at the dried blood. When Vash is sure that the wound has been cleaned he wraps it with new bandages.

The process is repeated a multitude of times over until every open wound has been checked. Some of the bandages peel away scabs that had been forming reopening those small wounds, but those hardly matter to the still open larger wounds that happen to look like someone took a dull knife and stabbed at Feliks. All while Vash is doing this he is carefully avoiding the broken bones, thankfully those are actually healing quickly – sign that Poland is still a country – but at the same time, best not to upset that process.

Finally all the wounds have been cleaned and properly redressed, so Vash starts cleaning up and packing the medical supplies away. The remaining bandages and supplies are packed away in the medical box and pushed under the bed. The washing cloth and towels and placed in the water basin to be taken out.

The cleanup is nearly complete when a soft groan comes from the body on the bed. Looking up Vash sees Polish eyelids peel back slowly to reveal slightly clouded green eyes. Feliks starts to move, but Switzerland stops him with a simple, "don't move."

The broken Polish nation stops shifting and twists his head to look in the direction of the voice. He stares unfocused at the standing male for several long minutes before a very hoarse; "Vash?" passes his lips.

Vash nods, knowing that the reason Feliks spoke his name is only to confirm that he is in fact seeing the Swiss man. A pained smile crosses Feliks' lips before his eyelids slide closed and his mind slips back into unconsciousness. The Swiss male watches him for a bit before picking up the basin and leaving.

The door closes softly behind him and standing outside in the hall is the small country currently under Switzerland's care, Liechtenstein. Vash easily recognized the worry dancing in her eyes and lacing her, "big brother?"

"He woke up," Vash responds simply walking around her and down the hall.

The young female had been quite worried about the Polish guest in their house since he arrived. She constantly offered to take care of him, but Vash always told her no. It was his decision to bring him here; it is his job to take care of him. If Germany found out about this, their neutrality might be put in jeopardy, Vash couldn't let the small country face that.

But really is that the only reason he insisted on taking care of the Polish man himself?

Vash takes the basin out back and dumps out the disgusting water. The water flows across the grass almost like it is cleansing itself with the Swiss soil.

Straightening himself out Vash turns his head to look in the direction of Germany's house. It's been obvious that something has been stirring in that house for quite some time and it certainly isn't pleasing. The attack on Poland is just proof of that.

"Das wird nicht gut enden," Vash mumbles turning and heading back into his home.

"_Poland never will rise again in the form of the Versailles treaty. That is guaranteed not only by Germany, but also… Russia." Adolf Hitler, September 1939_

Guess again Hitler.

**Notes:**  
_Translations:_  
Das wird nicht gut enden- This will not end well


	4. Chapter 4

**Wojna obronna 1939 roku**

_By: Kit Yami_

_It takes true strength to stand back up after one has been shoved to the ground. It takes true strength to smile when it is easier to frown. Some say it is stupidity to be like this. It is strength, one without a fist._

Chapter Four: 

He came, he left, he came, and he left. For the months following the invasion, once a month Francis came to Vash's house for no more than five minutes simply to check on Feliks and then leave. Having the Frenchman appear out of nowhere randomly was a bit annoying to Vash, but the Swiss male had to let the other in, for the current Polish government was hiding in France.

When it was obvious that the Polish state was going to be taken over the former President Ignacy Mościcki declared his successor Władysław Raczkiewicz. Raczkiewicz was in Paris at the time and was sworn into office. Normally they would have moved Feliks to the place of his government, but his body certainly isn't ready for that kind of movement, especially since he is just now beginning to heal.

So in the end Vash is left to care for the Pole, but he doesn't mind too much. All Feliks did was sleep. It was hard to tell the other is even still alive, save for the rising and falling of his chest the other is completely still. Well, until one day that is…

_It's been nearly five months since the end of the invasion and Feliks still had yet to wake up. All his wounds had finally closed up several of them becoming scars. His broken bones were beginning to heal as well. Soon enough he would be ready to move to France._

_Vash walks into the room to check on the Pole only to find those green eyes staring right back at him. _

"_Szwajcaria?" Feliks asks his voice a bit hoarse._

"_I see you are awake," Vash replies walking over to the Polish man._

"_How… Why I am I like here? How did I get here?" Feliks asks slowly his brain trying to think._

_Vash pulls over a chair to sit next to the bed and actually starts explaining the situation. Feliks listens intently becoming more and more awake with each word. The Swiss male ends with, "and how are you feeling?"_

"_I feel like totally gross, I need a bath or something," Feliks says. When one feels dirty, good thoughts are kind of hard to come by. So, if Feliks gets clean, since he can feel the heavy dirt in his hair and it is not pleasant, he'll be able to really think what he needs to do next._

"_You cannot move on your own," Vash states simply._

"_Well then you wash me."_

For the next three months after that Feliks' bones healed and Feliks became an annoyance to Vash. While he couldn't move he harassed Vash into giving him baths, his threat was or he would ask Liechtenstein to do it.

Although Feliks was a bit annoying, they became almost like a family in those months. But the semi-happy atmosphere was shattered when the real world came crashing back around Feliks. Germany invades France.

Almost immediately Feliks knew he couldn't stay here in the comfort of Vash's home any longer. Not only might his presence possibly harm the neutrality of Switzerland, but also Feliks has a country to be, and his country is not in Switzerland.

Vash knew Feliks couldn't stay here any longer, but still it is sad to see him go.

The Swiss man leans against the wall in the entryway of his home watching Feliks button up his shirt preparing to leave. The Pole had no possessions here and even the clothes on his back are borrowed.

"What will you do now?" Vash asks.

Feliks fixes the last button before looking at the other blonde, the very man who cared for him this far. He is the very man who despite his harsh actions is actually very caring deep within, if you get close enough to learn that. A smile crosses Feliks' features for a moment before turning into a smirk.

A single word passes from his lips, "live." With that Feliks turns and walks from the home, from the safe house he had been residing in.

The Swiss man watches his former guest leave and he can't help but take note that even in the dark of night bright phoenix wings seem to spread from the back of the Polish man. Watching him walk away Vash believes that not only will Feliks Łukasiewicz live, but so will the very nation he represents, Poland.

**Notes:  
**_Translations:_  
Szwajcaria- Switzerland (Polish)

_History notes:_  
After Poland fell, their new government Rząd Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej na uchodźstwie, Government of the Republic of Poland in Exile, was located in Paris. But after the Fall of France it was moved to London. The Allied Nations recognized this as the Polish State.

**A/N:** Ok, so the rest of the story after the first chapter is more based on the aftermath. This chapter in particular. I do hope you enjoyed it a bit. I might write a sequal about the Rząd Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej na uchodźstwie in London.


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